


Oh, Tybalt

by Shamelessly_Radiant



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo es Julia (musical), Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Anyways, F/M, This is so self-indulgent omg, because i find hungarian tybalt extremely atractive, bye, don't judge me too much, honestly szilvester is my favourite tybalt ever, it literally is porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamelessly_Radiant/pseuds/Shamelessly_Radiant
Summary: “I’ve noticed you watching me.” Startled, she drops the fish she was holding, and twists sharply to her right, where—Tybalt is. Tybalt, of the Capulets, watching her with that intense, dark gaze.(She has noticed him. She also knows what they say about him. Still, if he is the flame, she is the moth, thinking that she might not get burned)





	Oh, Tybalt

The sweltering heat of the day is reaching its peak, and she is hurrying to finish her shopping and return home, to other tasks she can finish in the shadows and the coolness of her house. So caught up is she in the merchandise, that she doesn’t notice the man coming up to stand next to her.

“I’ve noticed you watching me.” Startled, she drops the fish she was holding, and twists sharply to her right, where—

 _Tybalt_ is. Tybalt, of the Capulets, watching her with that intense, dark gaze. She hadn’t even noticed he was in the square.

“What?”

“I’ve noticed you,” he says, intent in his gaze. “The quiet girl, always observing me from the side lines. I’ve wondered why you haven’t approached me.”

She catches the fisher’s wife, standing a bit too still next to her products, looking away a bit too intently, and lowers her voice as she replies. “You intrigue me,” she admits, “but I’ve heard about you, Tybalt of the Capulets.” She has to crane her neck to look up and meet his gaze. He is tall, this man.

A smug look passes his face, and she rolls her eyes inwardly. “Oh, Tybalt,” she says, mimicking her cousins, “so sad, to see that potential lost on moping and bitterness, so sad how no one has ever seen you truly smile. And they say that you never seen to care for whom you join in bed, that as soon as you’re done, you’re done with no regard to your partner, that you’ve never spared a woman a glance twice, that once you’ve had her you’re—” She raises her eyebrows and makes a shooing motion with her hand to make her point.

He grabs her wrist, _hard_. She sucks in an inhale but quiets at the fury written plainly on his face. He is bending towards her, and there is venom in his eyes. “How dare you?” He whispers harshly, “How dare you speak to me that way?”

Retreat. Look down, demure. “I merely told you what I have heard. It is not the opinion that I hold on you.”

“Yes, it is.” His grip lessens, and the fury is gone from his face, replaced by something she cannot name as he searches her face. He does not release her at her weak tug, his fingers circling her arm completely. His other hand tips her chin up so her eyes meet his again. “Without even having ever shared a conversation with me, you have already formed your first impression of me. How utterly unfair.”

He pauses, and then there is the beginning of a smile on his face. “However,” he says, bending down to speak lower into her ear, “if you’d like to do me justice and form your own impression of me—“

A touch of slyness to his smile, and his thumb rubbing over her pulse point in a way that makes her knees go weak.

“You’ll let me know.” He says, and it sounds as a promise.

Then, he is releasing her, and striding away without a further word, his elegant jacket flapping behind him as he walks.

He does not look back. She does not look away.

.

_Fine. I’m interested._

_\- K  
_

She gives the note to one of her cousins who needs to go to the Capulet’s house for business. It is not ideal, but she is the least curious of them all, and even though her glance lingers a bit too long for her liking, her cousin doesn’t say a word.

This note, then, is the culmination of weeks of thoughts and struggles she has not been able to put aside. She once more curses her attraction for the haughty, broody, tall and handsome dark-haired man.

She curses him for noticing it.

She tells herself it will all be over soon. Tybalt is famous for never taking to the same bed twice. Once he’s had her, he’ll be done with her, and she’ll be able to bring herself to hate him.

.

(Things do not go as planned)

.

Instead of Tybalt showing up at her room at night, which is how he always does these things, her cousin comes back bearing a note.

Rapidly, she tears it open, not even caring if her cousin notices her haste. She fears and hopes in equal measures that this will be his rejection.

However—

_Come by this evening, at ten. I’ll be waiting for you._

_\- T_

The script is heavy and slanting, of a sort of careless elegance. She crumples it up in her fist and wills her heart to stop racing. This is highly inconvenient. She’ll have to sneak to the Capulet’s mansion in the night, and then come back even later after they’re… _done._ She wonders what it is Tybalt is trying to prove.

A part of her thinks about not showing up. She knows she will anyways.

.

He opens on the first rap of her fist against the door, as if he had been waiting at the other side of it. She sucks in a breath at his state. His heavy boots lie next to the wall, and he is not wearing his doublet, his soft undershirt showing his throat and the beginning of his chest.

He ushers her inside, and retreats from her to a closet on the other side of the room. Mouth suddenly parched, she stands hesitatingly against the door, and tells herself this was a mistake.

Caught up in her own head, she doesn’t notice him when he comes to stand in front of her again, now with drinks in his hand. Seriously, how is a man so tall able to be so silent? He reminds her of a predators chasing its prey, swift and deadly. Only, while she feels like the canary in the cat’s mouth, she doesn’t think he will tear her throat open. Not yet at least.

“Here.” He presses a goblet into her hand, and meets her eyes unwaveringly when she looks up at him questioningly.

She takes a drink and comes up spluttering. The burning sensation is one she has only felt seldom, and coughing with eyes tearing up, she is reminded why she doesn’t like it.

Tybalt is chuckling slightly, amusement on his face. The smile lingers after he drains his own goblet and reaches for hers to put them both away.

 _This was a mistake,_ she thinks. It must be written plainly all over her, because his demeanor suddenly changes. He flattens his hands next to her head, effectively caging her against the door, and looks straight into her eyes. The unspoken question hovers between them. _Well? Are we going to do this?_

She draws a deep breath, and surges up to kiss him.

His reaction is instantaneous, kissing her back, one hand finding her hip and curling around it, the other still bracing his weight against the door. She reaches up to tangle her hands in his soft-looking waves.

Her lips are clumsy against his, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he gentles the slant of his mouth over hers, catching her lower lip between his, his tongue drawing out hers, showing her how it is done.

She loses herself in the softness of it, in how it feels to be merely kissing him, and thinks that if this already feels pleasant, she cannot wait for what will come.

Tybalt picks her up and takes three long strides towards the bed, where he lies them down, his legs between hers. He pulls back to look at her, and she places her hand against his cheek. He closes his eyes as if in pain, and then runs the back of his hand against hers, stroking her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone and then further down, pulling her dress down and baring her breasts.

Her nipples pucker at the coolness of the room, and when he raises his hand to them, she whispers “Gently.”

She remembers the stable boy groping at her breasts, and how it had hurt. How she had pushed him away and run off, how she had not wanted to give into men’s jeers and entreaties anymore. Not until Tybalt’s unspoken promise.

He raises his eyes to meet hers as he palms a breast, his thumb gently flicking a nipple. And her mouth— her mouth is dry, and she feels a warmth at her core, a need for friction and heat and an emptiness yearning to be filled.

She tugs his head down, unable to stand his gaze any longer, and he obliges, kissing her briefly before kissing a path down where his hand had gone. She enjoys his lips on her breasts, though the gentle sunction of his mouth against her nipples doesn’t really feel like her cousins have described. Hers must be less sensitive then—

 _Oh._ Tybalt’s hand is slowly, but surely tracing up her thighs to the place where her legs meet her body, and she, her breath is coming faster, and his eyes are on hers again, and when he runs a finger through her slit, she closes her eyes.

He is now laying partially next to her, one hand propping his head up, the other _there,_ under her skirt, two fingers dipping into her opening before going up, and then he is rubbing at a place she didn’t even know existed, a little nub at the front and he is flicking switches in her every time his fingers drag over it, her breath is speeding up, her hips are bucking up and it feels _so good, so good,_ until—

She’s shattering. She’s gone. And she comes back to find Tybalt observing her, a smug smile on his face. Well, he is allowed to be it, seeing how he just made her feel.

She sits up, and he kneels next to her, observing her every move. She trails her fingers over his shirt, and says: “I want to see you.”

He sucks in a quiet breath, and nods, his fingers— long, elegant, start unbuttoning it. Her eyes are riveted on that sliver of skin and rove over every inch that is slowly revealed to her. He is well built, not too muscled but with enough to notice and make it impossible to ignore.

He leaves it on after he finishes, his hands resting lightly on his knees. She reaches for his nipples, and flicks and touches them in much the same way he had done hers, avoiding his persistent gaze and settling all her attention on his pale skin instead.

When she reaches for his breeches, for the material straining there, he grabs her upper arms and pulls her upright and against him, kissing her deeply. She can feel him now, hard and pressed against her. It gives her a heady feeling, knowing that she was the one that caused him to have this reaction, that this is for her.

He is moving at her back, and when her dress falls around her she realises he was unclasping it. Suddenly shy at the exposure, she raises her arms slightly around her, but then Tybalt is pushing them down, and the look in his eyes is heated as it roves over her exposed skin. He shrugs off his shirt, and it falls unceremoniously onto the floor.

She’s completely bare, and he still has on his breeches and belt. She moves to remedy the situation, and he shudders when her hands graze him. She grasps him hesitantly, stroking clumsily up and down, and he throws his head back and grunts as if in pain, and then he is positioning her to lie down, and settling between her legs and pushing in.

She draws a pained breath, and his eyes are alarmed. “You were untouched?” He half-states, half-asks and it dawns on her that this is the first thing he has said since they began this.

“Do not act so surprised,” she says. The signs had been there, no? Maybe not. She hoped he would not treat her differently for it, but she knew in her heart that he would. That any man would, that she’d be no longer _pure_ now. So long her future husband didn’t find out, or didn’t care, it didn’t matter anyway. She was no noblewoman like Juliet Capulet, kept sheltered in her tower.

“Breathe,” he tells her, after a pause. He has been trying to find her gaze and she has been avoiding it. He is too unnerving and intense in the daily life, she fears it will be worse when he is literally buried inside her, closer than any man has ever been to her.

She does, breathing in and out, and he stays still through it all. Now that the pain is abating, she is starting to understand what this is all about. She feels full in the best sort of way, and his weight on her is pleasant, gives her a feeling of safety only lessened by the fact that she knows who he is, who she is, and there are no tender feelings lost between them.

“You can move,” she tells him, twitching her hips experimentally up, regaining that feeling of pleasantness that had been building in her before.

He does, slowly at first, and with his damn dark eyes still trained upon her. She reaches for his hair, pushes it away from his face, and at this, he closes them, nuzzling slightly into her hand, his hips pumping slightly all the while.

“Here,” he mumbles, taking her foot and planting it down on the bed. She mirrors this with her other leg and gasps, this position giving her leverage and making him brush against a place she wasn’t aware existed. He smiles briefly, smugly, but then he starts going in earnest, one hand rising to palm her breast, his mouth briefly on hers before tearing it away and burying his face in her shoulder as his breathing grew more erratic.

Finally, he stutters and stills, before driving into her one more time and collapsing, spent. She feels his release inside her, and mentally notes that she needs to mix some herbs into her water the next day, to prevent her from having a child.

Tybalt rolls off her, and she feels a strange loss when he comes out of her. She now understands what her cousins talked about, though not about him, no. Not at all.

Outside, the darkness has fallen completely, and she mentally braces herself at the thought of having to go out there. She sighs, steals a second more of stolen warmth while she looks at him. His eyes are closed, his breathing relaxed, though she does not believe him to be asleep. Maybe better this way. She’d take this pretense over him kicking her out every day. She does not want to feel as worthless now that she has served her purpose.

Sitting up, she scoots towards the edge of the bed—

Only for his hand to wrap around her wrist, in much the same way it had done that day at the market, that day that started this all.

Curious, she looks back at him. Unpredictable, this Tybalt of Capulet’s, not at all like her cousins described, like she told him she knew him. This starts a thread of thought, but before she can follow it up, he is speaking.

“You can stay, you know.”

She doesn’t know. She _doesn’t_ know. And the sly curl of his mouth is old and new now, but she doesn’t understand what he means by it.

 _What are you doing,_ she thinks, but does not ask, because she suspects.

“You do not have to do this.” She tries to tug her arm free, but once again, he doesn’t let her. Instead, he sits up as well, and asks. “Don’t have to do what?”

She fixes him with a hard stare, fixes all her _you know_ in it. “Prove me wrong, about you.”

“Have I, then?” His question sounds oddly vulnerable, even if his face does not betray it, or she cannot read him well enough for it, and she doesn’t quite know how to respond. Yes. No. He has certainly behaved differently than how she would have expected him to.

“I— yes, I suppose so.”

He looks pleased, and finally lets go of her wrist. She gets of the bed and bends down to get her dress, when he speaks again. “I meant it.”

Twisting her neck to meet his eyes as she straightens out her clothing, she shakes her head, confused.

“You can stay.”

Oh. _Oh._

“I really cannot,” she says. “What will your servants say, when they come in tomorrow? And—“

“My servants have been instructed I am not to be disturbed until I call upon them,” Tybalt says, severe.

“Well, that may be, should my parents discover me missing, however…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. She doesn’t have to. He may not be a woman, but he knows.

“Very well.”

She turns back to her dress, trying to get it to cooperate. When a quiet curse slips through her lips, he chuckles, and the sound is much closer than she’d expect him to be.

“Do you need help with that?”

“That would be lovely,” she replies, and tries not to shiver at the feel of his callused fingers trailing along her skin as he adjusts the clothing and closes the clasps.

He kisses her neck, and she turns in his arms. “I already told you, you do not need to do that.”

His voice is without infliction when he answers, but she notices the brief clench of his jaw. “I am not to treat you as something I’ve just used, I am not to treat you otherwise, you can treat me as whichever you desire?”

“I apologise.” She replies, “I did not mean it that way. I’m merely confused, I expected—“

“You expected me to act according to the opinion you swore you did not hold for me.”

She doesn’t know if he is acting or if he means it. She only knows that he is interesting, this Tybalt, and this is highly inconvenient for her. She meant for him to be done with her so she could be done with him, and he frustratingly refuses to cooperate.

She bows her head anyways, because his words ring true. She notices only now that he is half-dressed. She looks questioningly at his breeches, and then up at him, having to tilt her head, remembering that he is so much taller than she is.

“If you’re to head home, I am to escort you.”

“Oh no, that will not be necessary.”

“I insist.” He says. “I will not linger, and I will leave you to sneak back into your house. However, you cannot expect me to let a lady wander these streets alone at this hour.”

A lady, is she then? Very well.

They finish dressing in silence. When Tybalt offers her his arm to walk home, she accepts.

.

She doesn’t hear again from him the next day, or the next,  or the one after that. She tells herself she is glad. She tells herself everything went as planned. Her cousin did not ask questions when she asked for the herbs, she burned his note, and didn’t tell a soul.

Everything went according to plan.

However—

.

She is standing in the market again, now carefully choosing apples, when a shadow falls over her. Somehow she knows exactly who it is before she looks up to catch his gaze.

“Tybalt,” she states, curtsies clumsily.

He nods back at her, that sly smile playing around his mouth. “Your family has been invited to our ball, this evening,” he says, “perhaps you’ll save me a dance or two?” In his eyes burns a different question. She knows he means a different sort of dance. Her mouth goes dry.

“I—“

_I don’t know if I’ll be there. I don’t know what is happening here. This is no longer following the script I am used to. I do not know the steps to this dance._

“You’ll let me know,” Tybalt states, his hand catching yours to press a kiss against your knuckles before he turns and walks away.

The fisher monger is staring from across the square. The fruit vendor has dropped her apples. His kiss lingers.

He does not look back. She does not look away.

.

(Perhaps he is a flame, and she the helpless moth. There are certainly worse ways to die.)

**Author's Note:**

> BONUS:  
> "What are you doing?" She asks.  
> "You know." He says, that amused, sly smile playing around his mouth. "Ask the question you want to ask me instead."  
> She breathes in. Out. In again. "Why are you doing it?"  
> His fingers trail up the sensitive skin of her throat. "Maybe I enjoy not meeting your expectations."
> 
> I desperately wanted this to be in the fic. Tybalt disagreed. Anyways. Even if this is self-indulgent as f*ck, I'm glad it got me writing again.  
> Xoxo


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